


Bring Me Home

by Insomniac_with_dreams



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet Dancer Lance (Voltron), College Student Lance (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Keith is in a not so good relationship, Lance is an idiot, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not really but I'll tag it, Protective Lance (Voltron), Sad Keith (Voltron), Temporary Amnesia, ballet dancer Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomniac_with_dreams/pseuds/Insomniac_with_dreams
Summary: This isn’t what Lance wanted. He hadn’t wanted Keith to fall like that. Guilt tears through his gut and he has to take a deep breath to keep himself from heaving. Lance must have sat down again at some point because the screen looks further away then it had before. The chaos outside had died down and the scores were flashing up on the screen for a final time. Keith and James’s names flash off and Lance and Nyma’s take their place. Nyma squeals, throws herself into Lance’s lap, presses a wet kiss against his lips before trailing them up to his ear.“We won,” her whisper is heavy, her tongue flicking out to trace the shell of his ear. “We won.”He feels cold.
Relationships: Allura/Romelle (Voltron), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), keith/oc, slight Lance/Nyma
Comments: 36
Kudos: 93





	1. Lance

**Author's Note:**

> A few more warnings:  
> Keith is in a manipulative, physical, and emotionally abusive relationship. There are instances of non-con but non of the scenes go into extreme detail. Just be wary of upcoming chapters. I will leave additional warnings on chapters with these elements.

Lance watches the t.v. in the waiting room. A scowl permanently etched onto his face, Nyma had gotten tired of hanging off his arm as he ignored her in favor of watching his rival dance like he was the definition of dance itself. They were the last act, Keith and his partner, James Lance thinks his name is, and of course, they are. They’ve won every dance competition for the last year and a half. Keith was unfairly good, unfairly ethereal, unfairly beautiful, and unfairly oblivious to Lance’s existence. Not that it should matter, Lance thinks as he listens to his girlfriend and partner chat with one of the other pairs. It shouldn’t matter because Keith stood on a pedestal that Lance would never reach, he was everything Lance wasn’t. He had everything he wanted and Lance wasn’t one of those things.

The routine is amazing, Keith choreographers most of his dances, and Lance wrinkles his nose at the few sloppy ungraceful moves that were most likely thrown in there by a coach or even James. Keith still manages to make them look elegant and graceful. Everyone in the waiting room knows that the routine is going to win, all of them are picking apart the flaws in their own routines. Nyma had been almost lazy in her performance, and Lance had conducted some sloppy lifts, his arms looking way too tense and hard, not fitting their theme of “ease”. It was a stupid theme but one that Nyma insisted on.

“We need a year to just go easy Lancey,” she had been sitting on his lap at the time, and he had been sitting on the hard floor of her dance studio, his laptop with music options in front of him. “We need a year to focus on us,” her voice had dropped with her lips as she mouthed lip gloss sticky kisses against Lance’s neck. Her hands had slipped up his loose tank top, and Lance like an idiot had agreed. The results were nothing like lance thought they were going to be. He wanted to see how their new relationship could influence their dance. Nothing changed, if anything dancing became more of a chore then Lance ever wanted it to be. He spent more time avoiding Nyma and her bubble gum smile then trying to make the dance mean something.

So yeah, they had sucked. Sucked hard, and by the way Kinkade and Rivazi dropped their heads to their hands said they hadn’t done too well either. The tension is the room was odd. The dancers were in awe of Keith, he was young, quiet, informally trained, some even called him a natural. Some dancers despised him, and Lance found himself stuck in a hard place. He wants to hate Keith, wants to watch him fall from his pedestal, but at the same time. He is a force of nature, he is  _ loud _ in his dance. He bleeds sorrow, and weaves joy, he steps on the line between them, his body speaks when his mouth doesn’t. Lance was sure he hated the other boy until he saw him alone, in an empty studio, with only the security lights on. He watched him practice and mess up and sit on the floor with his palms pressed flat against it, just to feel the music. Lance had watched his eyes open, his breath leave his parted lips, and his body rise from the floor like leaves blown off of a street. Lance’s heart had been beating too fast for him to hate him. Though now, Lance thinks bitterly, he has more reason to hate Keith now. He wants Keith now. More than once has he fantasized lifting Keith’s lithe body, of pressing close to him, of giving him a partner worth his talent.

Nyma is back again plopping down next to him. She’s wearing one of the other competitors' jackets and Lance pointedly ignores it, just because he knows she wants him to make a big deal out of it. She huffs as he continues to watch Keith move, slumping against him.

“I mean, they aren’t that good,” she whines it into his ear and he cringes a little bit. 

“Are you shitting me? They’re fucking fantastic as usual.” he doesn’t turn away from the screen and Nyma huffs louder.

“It’s not fair,” she says, and Lance grunts in acknowledgment. She clicks her tongue pulling her phone out of her bag, “I mean, we’re def coming in second.” 

The dance is reaching its climax, the music swelling, and Keith’s movements becoming faster. Lance can tell that they’re getting ready for a lift, probably that will probably shoot Keith’s score out of the water. The other pairs are gathering around now, crowding around Lance and Nyma to get a clear view. Ryan mutters something as James prepares to lift Kieth.

Lifts take trust, complete trust between the dancers. They take strength and agility in order to be pulled off. Lance knows something is wrong as James starts to lift Keith’s body, from Ryan’s quick exhale he knows he sees it too. James’s arm shakes, his back shifts, and they all watch Keith fall. 

Lance is standing before Keith hits the stage, ignoring the rest of the pair's gasps. Keith lands on the floor hard, his head bouncing sickeningly against the wood of the stage. Keith doesn’t get up, he doesn’t move. Lance can’t tell if he’s breathing. James is staring at his fallen partner, backing away from him and the rest of the theater is in hysterics. Paramedics are rushing onto the stage, backing James away, and securing Keith. The camera zooms in close and Lance feels his heart drop into his stomach, and bile rises into his throat at the blood that is spreading steadily across the floor from under Keith’s head. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” someone hisses behind him, and he a subconscious part of his brain agrees. They are all silent as Keith’s neck is braced, and he’s lifted carefully onto a stretcher. Then he’s gone, leaving a pool of blood on the stage, and shocked silence in his wake. The world feels tilted to Lance, like someone had shifted it on its axis, just enough to cause Lance to feel a sense of vertigo, but not enough to let him fall. The silence of the room, of the audience of the music that had been killed abruptly rings loudly in Lance’s ears. James walks through the door going straight for the fridge and pulling out a cold water bottle. Lance is vaguely aware of Ryan walking over and talking to him in hushed tones, the other pairs still stare at the screen, the room, each other in shock. 

This isn’t what Lance wanted. He hadn’t wanted Keith to fall like that. Guilt tears through his gut and he has to take a deep breath to keep himself from heaving. Lance must have sat down again at some point because the screen looks further away then it had before. The chaos outside had died down and the scores were flashing up on the screen for a final time. Keith and James’s names flash off and Lance and Nyma’s take their place. Nyma squeals, throws herself into Lance’s lap, presses a wet kiss against his lips before trailing them up to his ear.

“We won,” her whisper is heavy, her tongue flicking out to trace the shell of his ear. “We won.”

He feels cold.

  
  


_ Six Months Later _

Lance has to appreciate the fall time, the weather is in that perfect place and the air holds a feeling or crispness that has no business existing as nature dies. It’s a beautiful season, but it is also the season of little expectation in school, and a delicious thing called free time. His reasoning is backward and dredged up from hell, in Pidge’s so eloquent words. He dismisses her every time she brings up his horrid ability to procrastinate as the school year starts.

“Lance, that makes no sense! Why blow all your shit off now at the beginning? This is your chance to get ahead!”

Lance would roll his eyes, reach out to ruffle her hair, which she hates, and say,

“I only need to worry about failing the second semester. Besides, the way I see it, professors aren’t expecting too much from us yet.”

Hunk tries not to get into the arguments. His eyes are already bloodshot from the late nights, so Lance doesn’t turn to him anymore. He agrees with Pidge anyways. 

Lance doesn’t really care though. He has more important things to worry about anyway. Fall is dance season, and he is determined to spend every waking minute he can practicing. He practically lives at Allura’s dance studio and pays her for the late hours by cleaning and polishing the scuffed floor. He feels like it’s too little to pay Allura for allowing him to be there constantly, but he isn’t throwing it away, and like any other typical Tuesday evening he’s walking down leaf buried sidewalks to get to the studio. He had actually done a good job of going to class that week, waking up at the ass hour of six for a seven o’clock lab. It makes him wonder how he survived waking up that early to catch the bus to school when he was little when as a twenty-one year old it took everything and an unhealthy amount of energy drinks to get him going. He supposes maybe the whole, you are no longer forced to do anything and if you fuck up that's on you, mentality reads as fuck it, not today. 

Lance’s grins as he jogs across the street to the lit-up studio. Allura, ever the Halloween freak, has already hung up bats and orange and black streamers in the windows. He smiles at the witch propped up by the door as he goes in. The little bell above the door tinkles and Allura looks down from where she is standing on a step ladder hanging up even more Halloween decorations. 

“Oh look, if it isn’t my favorite loiterer.” she climbs down the ladder and reaches over and under her desk. She comes back with a key, he grins as he sees it’s the master floor. He reaches for it but she pulls it away from his grasp. “I expect every inch of that floor polished and cleaned. Got it?” he nods and she narrows her eyes at him before relenting and handing over the key. 

“Thanks, Allura!” he calls as he walks backward towards another hallway that led to the floors. He tosses the keys up and down as he counts the numbers on the closed doors as he passes, it’s routine for him. Familiar, warm scented with a hint of new spice for the holidays, pictures of different dancers line the walls too and Lance makes it a game to see if Allura had added anyone new. Normally they were all the same. Gap toothed little kids or tall slender ballerina’s dressed in puffy costumes and tight leggings. Today though he stops short as his eyes rake over the frames because nestled in a corner with the lights reflecting off the glass of the frame, is a picture of Keith Kogane. Dressed in a flowing shirt and tight black tights brandishing a sword at another dancer, both up on their toes, backs arched in perfect bows. He looks younger in this picture, maybe a teenager, but his form is still immaculate and his eyes still hold the same intensity they do when he dances now. Lance swallows and pulls his eyes away. Maybe Allura knows the other dancer, or her father taught him. Surely the picture wasn’t on the wall because of Keith. Keith was from a rival dance studio or  _ was _ . Come to think of it, Lance hadn’t really heard much about the other dancer since his accident.

He tries to put Keith and the picture out of his mind as he unlocks the door to the big floor and flips on the lights. It doesn’t really work and Lance is distracted as he stretches out at the bar, watching his form with unseeing eyes in the mirror. It feels good to stretch his legs and arms and torso. He’s a little pissed that he happened to see the picture. Keith’s fall and the nightmare that the months after it was pushed to the front of his mind again. He leans forward to touch his toes, remembering the shock as Keith fell. He grits his teeth coming up out of his bend and stepping out onto the floor. He goes through the steps of his routine. It’s odd to be dancing alone, something he hasn’t done in a while. He leaps into the air frowning as his leg pulls a bit, his landing is clumsy. He turns it into a spin frustration building in him.

Two long months after the accident the dancing community was still groveling for answers about what had happened after Keith was taken to the hospital. Takashi Shirogane, owner of the dance studio Keith trained at, had come forward saying that Keith had survived the ordeal, and that was it. They got nothing else from him, no reassurance that Keith would be back, no updates on his condition, just he’s not dead. It had caused friction throughout the various dance companies, especially when James chose a different dance partner, not even a few weeks after. That had infuriated Lance. Your partner is supposed to be your friend, your consultant, someone you can trust to hold you up. Literally and figuratively. Nyma had called him ridiculous for being so angry about it, and then he came home one evening pissed off because she hadn’t shown for practice, only to find her in his bed with some other guy. Lance has been dancing alone since the last of her stuff was moved out. He hates it a lot, it was like he had never stepped onto a dance floor. Allura had had to reteach him how to shift his balance because he was so used to sharing it with someone else.

He stops in the middle of the floor panting. The music had stopped a long time ago and the room is filled with his breaths and the ticking of the white clock in the corner of the room. Lance’s mouth is dry, his heart beating erratically and he decides that he should go. Injury is the last thing he wants. So he gathers his things, changes and then gets to work cleaning and polishing the floor. It doesn’t take too long to clean but there are a few spots of shoe polish that refuse to come easily. He drops the supplies in a tiny hidden closet in the room, he pointedly does not look at the picture as he walks back down the now dim hallway.

Allura is behind her desk and Lance leans casually against it, reaching into a little pumpkin pot to dig out a mellow creme candy. He manages to get two before she’s slapping his hand away.

“Those are for the little ones Lance,” she says going back to her computer. He pouts but leaves them alone. He drums his fingers on the desktop. He wants to ask her about the picture but he has no idea how or even why. Why was a question he rarely let his mind explore when it comes to Keith? “Did you break something?” Allura asks, her eyes narrowed at him.

“What? No, that was one time Allura. One time.” her glare doesn’t ease and she leans back in her chair.

“Then why are you acting so weird. It’s nearly seven Lance, you should go home.”

He rocks back on his heels, his bag swinging forward, “Yeah I know, I just, I noticed a picture on the wall that hadn’t been there before and I was wondering about it.”

Allura’s face goes from confused to downright evil with her grin, “Ohh, you’re talking about the picture of Keith and Thace.” she leans forward lacing her fingers under her chin and wiggling her eyebrows. Lance blanches.

“Why are you saying it like that? Allura,  _ Allura stop _ . You’re creeping me out with the eyebrow thing, and I have no idea what you’re trying to imply.”

Allura rolls her eyes, “Lance come on. Everyone knows you have an odd obsession, dare I say  _ crush _ , on Keith. It’s like old news.”

Lance sputters, his face burning as the truth is laid down so bluntly in front of him. “I do not! Why would I like him! He’s been my rival for like,” he pauses to think, counting on his fingers before waving his hands around, “it doesn’t matter how long but it’s been a long time. Everyone knows we’re rivals.”

Allura snorts,”‘Really? Does Keith know about this “rivalry”?”

Lance opens his mouth to retort, before closing it. He actually isn’t sure. Keith might not even know he exists. That thought makes Lance sadder then it should. He shakes his head and waves her away, “I mean, yeah obviously. Why do you think he always beat me?”

“He won because he was a fucking good dancer,” Allura says gathering her things, she looks up at him, “he didn’t just beat you. He beat anyone who dared share a stage with him.” She hooks the straps of her purse over her shoulder, grabs her coat and scarf, and ushers him out of the door of the office. He frowns at her back as she locks the door and leans over to the window to switch on the Halloween lights and switch the open sign off.

“You sure speak fondly of him, even though he is from a  _ rival _ dance company. Doesn’t that word me anything to you?”

Allura laughs wrapping her pink scarf around her neck, “Not really. I dated Takashi.” She opens the door for him and Lance steps through automatically even though his mind is reeling from the information.

“Wait but I thought,” he trails off uncertainty. Allura is laughing at him again, she takes his arm and they walk towards the bus stop together even though Lance has to walk the opposite direction to get home.

“Oh yes, we dated before we both realized what morons we were. We were the gayest straight couple on campus. I love the man to pieces, and will always be grateful he was the man I dated while trying to figure out my sexuality. I could have really caused myself harm.”

“Oh,” Lance feels winded. Not just from the aggressive ballet he had just performed, but from the amount of information dumped on him in these short few minutes. Allura chuckles.

“Yes,  _ oh. _ So yeah, me and Takashi are best friends. I’m actually surprised you haven’t met him more personally before.”

They’re at the bus stop and the temperatures are dropping rapidly, the fall wind going from crisp to cold. Lance buries his hands in the pockets of his coat and Allura noses her scarf. 

“How is Romelle by the way?” He watches as Allura perks up her eyes lighting.

“She’s doing well. You should see some of the pictures she sends me to Venice.” Allura digs her phone out of her bag and turns the screen so Lance can see pictures of canals and cathedrals. “ She loves it there, and says that studying abroad is the best thing she could have done for herself.” Allura sighs happily and swipes to another picture that has Lance blinking owlishly. It’s Allura, and Romelle, leaning into the camera with large grins and ridiculous sunglasses flashing rainbow. What catches his eye though is Takashi Shirogane in the background throwing a peace sign up, at his elbow is Keith. Smiling a little quietly a beanie pulled over his braided hair. Lance points to it in awe and Allura nods.

“That’s from three years ago? Maybe less, I’d have to check. It was Romelle’s birthday.”

Lance leans away, “You know Keith personally?”

Allura chews her lip debating, “Kind of? I don’t know him like I know Takashi or even Curtis for that matter, but yeah.”

He wants to ask her what he’s like. If he’s really as quiet as people say he is if he truly speaks through his dance more then through words. “Well, what is he doing now?! No one’s heard anything about him for months! Last thing I heard is that he didn’t die!”

“I’ve heard about as much as everyone else about Keith’s condition,” Allura sighs, dropping her phone back into her bag, “ Takashi has been really quiet on that matter. I think Keith doesn’t want people to know.”

The bus is coming down the road, and Lance is hit with the overpowering want to see Keith again. Walking again, dancing again, hell, winning again. He had vomited the night after Keith’s fall, curled around the toilet as images of Keith’s lifeless body plagued his mind. He was drunk for the exact reason to not think about it anymore, it hadn’t gone as planned. Allura must have been watching him because she sighs and puts a hand oh his arm.

“You know, Taashi’s dance studio is open six days a week and he’s there at least three out of those six. Stop by if you’re so worried.”

“I’m not stopping by a rival dance studio Allura. I don’t care that much.”

She looks at him tiredly and waves as she hops onto the bus.

He walks back to his dorm slowly, hands freezing even as they’re shoved as deeply as possible into his pockets. He takes the long way back, which takes him right past the large low building that is Takashi Shirogane’s ballet studio. He’s heard rumor that it’s become more of a dojo after the fall and Lance isn’t sure how to feel about that. He isn’t sure how to feel about anything anymore. He loves dance, but he loved dancing with his partner, he loved dancing against Keith. He pauses on the sidewalk across from the studio and stares at it. It’s closed, which makes him breathe out in relief. If it had been open he might have crossed the street. He turns away, blowing out a breath that fogs in the air. He sticks a hand into his pocket and pulls out a pumpkin, popping it into his mouth and going on his way. Perhaps one day he’ll get the balls to go and figure out how Keith is doing. Maybe one day he’ll have the strength to talk to Keith.

The opportunity proves itself way sooner than Lance would have wanted. The day had started like shit and become even more shit as it had progressed. Lance’s alarm hadn’t gone off and he’d been woken up after a thump and Hunk letting out an aggressive  _ “fuck”. _

“Lance! I think our pipes are frozen!”

Their pipes are frozen, but Lance is late for chemistry and Hunk is late for work, so they have to leave their dorm in threat and hope nothing breaks. Then Lance was late to chemistry, and the sharp-nosed professor made a show of stopping her lecture and announcing loudly that late people will only receive half a participation grade. Lance sits through the rest of the lecture, with his neck feeling hot and his notes nothing more than scribbles. He is determined to not let anything else get him down for the rest of the day, and despite his cafe being closed it was going well, but then he goes to his English class. The professor hands him back the essay he had stressed over for days, the essay he had been confident in. The crease between his professor's eyebrows is enough to make him want to drop the thing in the trash. When he flips it over there’s an atrociously low grade on it. Lance never did well with writing, but the grade made him want to vomit. He stared at it worrying his lip. He was only a few scare GPA drops from losing scholarships. He was ready for practice. Ready to put all the shit that had happened that day behind him, and then Allura had texted him asking him not to come in. So he went home with tension in his muscles and a frown on his face. He supposed it was fair for Allura to want to go home after her long days, but fuck, it felt wrong to break his streak.

Hunk’s bike is at the bottom of the stairs flipped onto its handlebars and Lance winces at the dangling chain. He steps into their dorm cautiously. He lets out a breath when the carpet looks dry and nothing else looks damaged. Hunk is on their small couch and he looks over the armrest at lance as he puts his bag down.

“I’m not making dinner tonight. Let's go eat.” 

“Do we even have enough money for that?” Lance says crossing to the kitchen and opening the fridge. He frowns at the empty shelves. “You know what doesn’t matter. It’s either that or we starve.”

Hunk grunts as he sits up, “There’s a nice little diner over on Downtown. It looks worn down enough that I doubt it will be too expensive, but honestly, it’s either that or I’m going straight for the booze.”

Lance closes the fridge door slowly and turns to look at Hunk in blatant concern, “Bro, are you okay? That’s not like you, at all.”

Hunk scrubs a hand down his face, “Yeah, I’m sorry I’m fine.”

Lance sits down on the couch next to him and puts his hand on his knee. ‘It’s alright if you aren’t okay, you know that right? As your bestest friend in the whole world, you can tell me all.”

Hunk snorts a laugh, “I am tired I guess, and stressed, and I miss Shay. Plus I was joking about the whole booze thing,” Hunk stands and reaches for his helmet before frowning. “Mostly.”

They take Lance’s ratty, tinny, tiny car instead. Lane ran everywhere, and Hunk biked but both were tired and Lance was willing to pay for gas this once. Hunk talked about Shay mostly and Lance was strangely quiet, listening for any concerning noises coming from the engine.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about flying out to Venice for thanksgiving.” Hunk mutters and Lance looks over at him.

“I think you should bud. You need a break and I think seeing your girl will do you good.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, man.”

Hunk nods and Lance swears he sees tension bleed out of his friend's shoulders. It makes Lance frown.

“Hunk. What’s going on?”

Hunk points at a little diner and Lance turns sharply to get into the parking lot. He turns off the car and eyes his friend. Hunk runs a hand up through his hair.

“I’ve been offered a position at a restaurant in Paris, Lance.” he twists his hands together, and the implications of what he said slam into Lance hard. He grips the steering wheel tight.

“Soooo, what, you're just going to drop out and move to France?” Lance asks and it comes harsher than he means it to. Hunk blinks at him, his face hardening.

“Yes, Lance. This is the break I’ve been looking for. This is what I really want to do and if they’ll take me before I’m done with school, I have to.”

Lance stares out the windshield at the lone worker in the little diner scrubbing down tables. He clenches his jaw.

“This is it? You’re going to abandon me when we agreed to go through college together.”

“It’s not like you haven’t abandoned me, Lance.”

“What?! What are you even talking about? Last time I checked I’m not planning on moving to another fucking country.”

Hunk folds his huge arms over his chest and twists in his seat, “No you aren’t, but you might as well have. When was the last time we studied with Pidge? When was the last time you ate lunch with us? It’s like we never see you anymore. Do you even remember the last time you saw Pidge?”

Lance sputters, “I text her every day!”

“Lance texting and being there are two different things. I would understand if you were stressed with school or your job, but it’s just dance.”

“Dance is my job Hunk!”

“And cooking is mine. I really thought you’d understand. It’s the same thing dance is to you, Lance. Your job but also your passion.”

They walk into the diner in sulky silence. Hunk talks kindly to the middle-aged host who looks so tired it’s almost sad. She shows them to a table and hands them greasy menus.

“Your waiter will be out in a bit.”

Hunk looks slightly horrified at the grimy plastic and Lance can’t help the little flash of satisfaction that flashes through him. He feels bad about it almost immediately. He sighs and puts down the menu.

“Look Hunk, I’m sorry.” Lance chafes his hand through his hair, “I have no place in telling you what you can and can’t do, and I think you should go. You’re right. You need to take this chance.”

Hunk puts his menu down too, “Thanks and I’m sorry too. I’ve just been stressed lately. I should have told you when I told Pidge.”

Lance feels a little pang of irritation flare in his chest that Hunk had told Pidge first. It’s petty anger though, so he lets it go.

“What are you going to get to drink?” he asks again, staring down at the smudged list of beverages. 

“Hmmm. Something that will mask the taste of diner water. So I’m thinking coke.”

They both decide on coke and look over the dinner options. Lance isn’t very hungry, not anymore, but he doesn’t want to upset Hunk more than he already has. So he decides to get season fries. Hunk pulls out his phone and tentatively shows Lance pictures of the restaurant in Paris. Lance has to admit he’s a little jealous. Sure he’s been to Paris with the company, but Hunk is going to live there, and from the looks of the place, it has a first-class view of the Eiffel Tower.

“Not gonna lie Hunk, that’s awesome. “

“I know.”

Their conversation is stilted and Lance is seriously considering demanding the waiter show up just so he can have something to distract him. Finally, he sees someone coming out of the kitchen. He swears he recognizes the boy as he gets closer but something is just off. His mouth falls open and his flaps at Hunk’s arm, his fingers plucking at the fabric at his sleeve.

“Dude, what the hell?” Hunk asks, and oh fuck he’s nearly there. Treading lightly on dancers feet.

“It’s fucking Keith,” he hisses. Hunk’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something but Lance pinches him.

Keith stops by their table raising his notebook, “Hi, I’m Keith. Sorry for the wait we uh, anyways, um what can I get for you tonight?”

And  _ fuck,  _ Keith’s voice is quiet and his fingers rub against the notebook with nerves. He hardly looks like himself, his hair is cut short. Piled into straight, thick, heaps on top of an undercut. Lance can just barely see a gross looking scar curve around the back of his head. He’s gained a little bit of weight, not a lot, but definitely more than when he was dancing. His clothes look worn, the cuffs of his jeans frayed and the knees are wearing through, and tired. Fuck he looks tired, bags his shoulders slumped, his skin pale. Bags hanging heavy under his eyes. Lance accidentally catches Keith’s eyes completely, and those are almost the same. If not a bit fractured.

“Um, do you guys need a little more time?”

Hunk tugs on Lance’s arm and Lance blinks, all he needs to say is, yeah can I have a coke and a medium serving of seasoned fries? Instead, he says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Keith blinks and twitches his fingers, “I work here?” Keith gestures lamely towards the name tag pinned to his polo.

“You work here? You? Since when?”

Keith looks beyond uncomfortable now and his thick eyebrows furrow, “Um, I’m not sure. I guess it’s been a few months now. Can you order please.”

Lance sputters again, “Oh come on Keith, what the hell.”

Keith looks a little pissed now, “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he clicks his pen rapidly and chews on the corner of his mouth. Lance feels like someone snapped him with a rubber band, right between the eyes. Keith doesn’t know who he is.

“Uh, the names Lance. We were in opposite companies in dance.” Lance says and Keith blinks again, “You know Lance and Keith neck and neck?”

Keith shakes his head, his lip caught savagely between his teeth. “I’m sorry, I don’t really remember you.” he turns to Hunk and Lance sits there. Keith’s voice shakes as he asks them specifics on their orders. Lance answers in a monotone voice and glares at Keith’s back as he pivots on his heel and hurries away. The scar on full display and it looks grosser than Lance thought it was. Once he’s completely out of view Hunk turns to him.

“Um, did you just lowkey harass our waiter?”

Lance blows out a breath, “No. I didn’t.”

“Lance he literally looked like he wanted to disappear. I think you should apologize.” Hunk says judgment dripping off his words.

Lance throws his hands up, “What is it with my friends standing up for my rival this week?!”

Hunk waves him down as the single other person in the diner glares over at them. “Shhh. God Lance, you are so dramatic. And sure he might be your “rival” but did you see him?”

Lance drops his arms, “Yes Hunk I did.”

“And you still antagonize him?”

“I was not antagonizing him! I was asking a simple valid question.”

Hunk drops his head to his arm that is laying on the table, “Oh my god. My luck has hit an all-time low. I should have just let you starve.”

Lance opens his mouth to argue, but then Keith is walking back towards them, a tray in his hand. Lance’s mouth snaps shut and he keeps it clamped as Keith stops at their table again. Keith doesn’t look at either of them as he hands them their respective orders. Hunk thanks him quietly and Keith nods. He straightens and looks at the floor, tucking the tray under his arm and spinning it against his side.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Hunk looks at his floppy scrambled eggs and asks for hot sauce. Keith nods and then heads over to the other patron.

The fries are admittedly pretty good, warm, and seasoned to perfection. Lance has no problem eating them, Hunk on the other hand has a look of slight disgust on his face as he eats his pancakes. A different waitress brings over the hot sauce, she levels a glare at Lance, flipping her purple and blue streaked hair out of her face as she whirls around and stomps back to the kitchen. Lance swallows thickly and Hunk smirks at him.

“I think your  _ rival's _ girlfriend might not appreciate you messing with him.”

Lance scoffs taking a swing of coke and pressing his tongue to the top of his mouth to alleviate the fizzle and pop of the soda. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Wow. That’s not a cool assumption.”

“He’s gay Hunk. He came out one year as some sort of statement.”

Hunk nods, “That's cool. I mean what a way to help people who aren’t sure about their sexuality or whether they should start dancing.”

Lance sighs and licks the salt and pepper from his fingers, “yeah. I suppose you’re right. I know it definitely helped me out.” he grumbles the last part because it was true and he didn’t want to give Keith that.

Hunk drowns his eggs in Tabasco sauce and shoves them into his mouth, taking a swig of coke after. “I wouldn’t be too upset that Keith doesn’t remember you.”

“Yeah well, that's easy for you to say. You didn’t get your ass handed to you by him for years. The least he could do was remember the guy who nearly beat him.”

“Yeah but Lance,” more hot sauce goes onto the eggs, “Did you see that scar? For all you know he has memory issues. A wound like that has to have lasting effects.”

Lance pauses in bringing a fry to his mouth, “Shit.” he drops it back onto the plate, “You’re right.” Now he felt bad. 

Hunk puts a hand on Lance’s arm, “Dude, just say sorry. I mean it doesn’t even have to be a heartfelt thing. Also, hurry up, I want to go home and call Shay.”

Keith does come back to clear their table and drop their ticket. Hunk grabs it and stands up to go pay it, holding a hand out for lance’s part of the payment. Lance hands it over and holds onto his glass so Keith can’t take it. It’s awkward as Hunk leaves sending a look at Keith. They’re just standing there looking at each other, Lance deliberately sipping his drink in leisure, and Keith standing there with his tray loaded with their dishes. He huffs at Lance sending a glare at him.

“Can you hurry? I would like to leave.” 

Lance puts his cup down sheepishly but keeps a hold of it, “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. That was uncool of me. It’s none of my business what you do and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” he hands his glass to Keith who is staring at him like he grew a second head. He takes it though and sets it on the tray upside down. He’s looking anywhere but Lance. His eyes settle on the window finally, staring out at the darkening parking lot.

“Thanks. That-uh,” he pauses and his eyes go wide before he’s turning away from Lance and hurrying back to the kitchen. The blue-haired waitress catches his arm and they exchange words before she’s pushing letting him go. She sends a glare over at Lance who throws up his hands. He gathers his things and joins Hunk who is waiting impatiently by the door.

The cold air hits lance in the face as he steps out into it and he regrets not bringing a scarf. As they both hurry across the parking lot a man hops out a large jeep and strolls towards the diner. He thinks little of it.

~*~*~*~*~

Lance goes back. He tells himself not to, begs himself not to. Hunk begs him not to, but he goes back. Keith does that to him, draws him in like a magnet. Pulls him towards him with a force that Lance can not combat. The first evening he paces around the block just out of view of the diner, trying to talk himself out of it, but then a man starts walking towards him and he freaks out and darts around the corner speed walking to the door.

It’s just his luck that the girl is the only one he recognizes working there that night. He tries not to show his disappointment.

“You, again? It’s been like a week.” she scowls at him but grabs a menu jerking her head to get him to follow her. He’s regretting his life choices as he sits stiffly. It never occurred to him that Keith wouldn’t work every single day and he had just chosen a shit day to come back.

“Uh, I actually didn’t really come here to eat anything.” it was the wrong thing to say by the way the girl stops dead in her tracks and swivels around to stare at Lance with blazing eyes. She leans on the table, and Lance is sure this could get her fired, but he’s also sure she doesn’t care.

“Listen here,” a long black nail in his face right at the tip of his nose, “I don’t know what shit you’re playing at, but you better leave Keith alone.”

Lance holds his hands up going slightly crossed eyed as he looks down her finger, “I’m not trying to hurt him. I just haven’t seen himself since he brained himself on a stage in front of me. I literally only knew he wasn’t dead, you can’t blame me for reacting like an idiot when I saw him working at a fucking diner.”

The girl drops her finger and leans away from him. She glances him up and down disdain written all over her face. His eyes go to her name tag,  _ Acxa _ , he read. He makes a mental note to look out for her when he comes back. He wants to bang his head on the table when he thinks that. 

“Well you know he’s not dead and that he has a job, leave him alone.”

“Why do you care anyway? I don’t even know who you are?” Lance snaps back annoyed that this random girl who he has never seen before is all buddy-buddy with Keith. Her glare is ice hot again.

“I happen to be Keith’s best friend.” 

Lance scoffs, “Last time I checked Keith was shit at making friends.” it was true. Keith was known for being a lone wolf, never going out to party after a win with people, and when he did tag along he would sit quietly and watch the festivities going on around him.

“And did you ever approach him to try and make friends?”

Lance frowns at her, “No. For all intents and purposes Keith was my rival. He was an annoyance that I couldn’t beat, and  _ fuck _ , I have no idea why I want to see him so badly.” he works his hands into his hair and stares at the cracks spidering along the tabletop. Acxa snorts and he looks up again.

“Listen. I can’t fix your problem, nor do I want to. If you’re so desperate to get in contact with Keith you’re either going to have to come back another day or find some other way too. Now, what can I get for you tonight?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He doesn’t really go back not like the first time, instead, he works on a plan. Lance can admit to himself that he was a coward for not just going to the dance studio, but that was still a little too close to home for him. He asks Pidge and Hunk if they want to do a study night and they both agree without a hitch. Hunk plans to leave before Christmas and they’ve promised to spend the Halloween season very much together. It’s only when Lance floats the idea of where he wants to study, do Hunk’s eyes narrow. Lance holds his hands up in mock innocence.

“They have good fries man.”

It’s far busier that Wednesday when they meet. Most of the tables are full, and lance feels a thrill go through them as he sees Keith darting among them. He drags his eyes away as Pidge elbows him hard in the stomach.

“Are you serious man? Did we come here to study or did we come here so you can ogle the waiter?”

He frowns and slides into the booth the host led them to. The cracked plastic of the seat pinching at the bottom of his thighs. Hunks slides in next to him a heavy pout on his face.

“Laaance,” he whines pulling the menu up, “ I should have known. How long have you been scoping this out?”

It had been a week of watching and yeah admittedly that was fucking creepy, but he had learned through his observation and asking anyone but Axca, that Keith worked late nights Sunday, Monday and Fridays. Then he worked from noon to eight on Wednesday, the morning shift of Tuesday, and then an hour in the evening on Saturday. Lance had been mildly horrified at all of the hours, but also slightly overjoyed that he had a frame of reference for when he could catch up with Keith.

“I mean, I just.” Lance shrugs and peers down at the table his cheeks burning. Pidge snorts.

“Well you better figure it out, he’s coming over.”

Lance’s head snaps up and sure enough, Keith is edging his way towards them. He looks hesitant and even more tired than the last time, his hair dull under the lights.

“Hi, I’m Keith. I’ll be your server, what can I get for you?” his pen is poised over his stained notepad his fingers rubbing against the casing restlessly

“Hi Keith, it’s nice to see you again,” Hunk said, ever the saint. Keith bobs his head a shaky smile fighting onto his lips.

“O-oh, uh actually I was a little confused to see you again. The food here is hardly worth it.”

Lance clamps the inside of his lip in between his teeth. Keith isn’t stupid, Lance catches the cursory glance Keith sends him. Acxa probably told him that he had been around as of late. He’s a moron, he hadn’t thought any of this through. 

“Ah yes, well Lance here,” and fuck Hunk, ‘Happens to love the season fires he got last time. He had to have more.”

If looks could kill, Hunk would be dead. Keith finally looks fully at him, dark eyes leveling on him with an intensity that feels suffocating, biting, painful enough that Lance would pull away. If he could.

“Is that so? Well, can I get you those again?” Lance offers him a helpless nod and Keith drops his eyes to his pad jotting down the order. 

Pidge gets a grilled cheese sandwich and starts to order Sprite before Keith tells her not to.

“The water here tastes like literal shit. I would order something far stronger.” 

Pidge grinned and ordered a coke. Lance panics as Hunk recites his order, because  _ fuck, _ Keith is leaving.

“Are you trying to get fired?” Lance says or spews, whatever it was a stupid thing to say. Keith looks back at him, his dark brows coming together again. He reaches up towards his head before dropping his hand as if he forgot he no longer has hair to mess with.

“What do you mean?”

Lance fidgets over the menu. “Well, you aren’t really selling the quality of the food here.”

Keith shrugs, “Well if it was me, I would prefer to be told that what I order is good. If the food is good, then customers are more likely to come back, and I have a better chance of getting a tip. Which you so kindly did not leave last time.”

Hunk gasps and turns to stare at Lance, “You didn’t give him a tip?”

Lance threw his hands out, “I didn’t think about it! It’s weird tipping someone my own age!” he points at Keith, “Not to mention  _ he _ wasn’t actually out to serve us until we sat there for like twenty minutes!”

Keith flinches and takes a physical step back away from the table. His hands tremble as he holds a hand out, Lance stares at it in confusion, before Pidge grabbed his menu and handed it to Keith along with hers.

“Your drinks will be out soon.” then he’s gone.

“Wow, Lance. Are you trying to woo this guy or make him hate you?” Pidge says, her glasses flashing in the overhead lights enough that they wash out her eyes completely. Lance slumps in his chair and digs his thumbs deep into his eyes.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans.

Hunk puts a hand on his back in sympathy, “You have to stop shooting yourself in the foot man. Maybe think a little before you speak yeah?”

“I know,” Lance bemoans, flopping onto the table which Hunk makes a concerning noise at. “It’s just so weird. I spent years hating, and then when he got hurt it felt like my world was destroyed. I spent months wondering what happened to him and then bam! Here he is in such a mundane environment.”

Pidge frowns, “If you hate him so much why do you want to get back in contact so badly? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because I don’t hate him. As much as I tried to, I don't and the night he got dropped I had to face that truth, and ugh.” Lance bangs his forehead against the mildly sticky table, and he swears he can hear Hunk gag. "I don't know how to talk to him without my past aggression and feelings coming out,” he pouts at Pidge and her mildly disgusted expression.

“Wow. You know sometimes I think, nah Lance isn’t that pathetic, but then you do something like this.” she wiggles her fingers at him.

He shoots up with an offended gasp, his palm slapping against his heart, ‘Pidge! You wound me!”

Hunk lets out a long-suffering sigh, his eyes turned upwards, despite Lance knowing he isn’t religious. “Guys, please. I’m running on very little sleep.”

Pidge smirks and lance rolls his eyes.

Keith comes and goes, he hands them their drinks, then sits another few people around them at other tables. Lance watches him unabashedly and Pidge gives up trying to get him to start studying. Keith gets duller and duller as the night goes on, and by the time he’s had his fries and refills of fries, because fine, they actually are pretty good, Keith is literally dragging his feet around the dining area.

Hunk slams his book closed at eight, rubbing at his eyebags. Pidge follows example and she looks just as tired as Hunk looks and Lance feels. Keith comes by one last time to hand them the bill. They split it amongst each other and Hunk doesn’t let them leave the table until they left a tip. Lance debates, growing ever anxious that he was leaving, so he does something he’s never done before. He bluffs about leaving something at the table on their way out and doubles back. Keith is on the other side of the room bent over a table as he scrubs it down. Lance smooths a napkin on the table and scribbles his number down along with his name. He puts it on top of the tip money so Keith will have to see it, and then he leaves, thumbing over his phone in excitement.


	2. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings~ Sexual assault, body image issues, panic/ anxiety attack, discussions about abuse, abuse

Keith’s hands tremble as he wads up the napkin and slips the tip into his notebook. It had been a relief when he had finally left. The table was loud, and Lance was dangerous. Especially now. He was back every Wednesday and Keith sometimes was fortunate enough to not have to serve him, but every time he did Lance would leave his number scrawled across a napkin. He had come in hours earlier than he normally did and it had caught Keith so off guard he hadn’t had time to dodge. It was bad, so bad because the more lance sat at that same little table and the more season fries he ordered, the more Keith wants to sit down with him.

Keith bites into his already chapped lips as he clears the table, loading a tray and pushing in chairs with his hip. He offers a smile to the little old lady who had come in looking for a slice of pie and coffee. She was probably the nicest person he had dealt with in a long time. All kind hands and kinder eyes. Honest eyes. She didn’t want anything from him, except for pie and coffee. He liked that, wished his life could have more Jenny’s in it.

He’s one of the only remaining staff, and after he’s dumped his load in the sink and said a heartfelt sorry to the poor underpaid dishwasher, he rubs the condensation buildup off the clock above the oven. It reads eight-thirty and his stomach aches. He doesn’t want to go back to Jason’s apartment. Keith lets out a shaky breath and reaches for the phone crate, carefully pulling his phone out and turning it on. The battery is depleted and he bites his lip. He had forgotten to plug it in the night before and Jason didn’t allow him to have a phone charger on his side of the bed.

“It’s you’re own fucking fault Keith.” he would sneer at him, or if he was feeling merciful he’d tut at Keith like he was some misbehaving child. He’d pluck the phone from Keith’s hand, go through it with ease and then plug it in. “See honey, where would you be without me?”

Last night had not been one of mercy. His wrist throbs from where it had been twisted and bruised. He had been sure Jason would break it, but he had let go before it could. Small blessings Keith thinks. He has no messages. He never has messages, unless it’s Jason reminding him he’s lazy and worthless in the most sickeningly sweet ways. Keith leans against the counter, one of the cooks has stepped out for a smoke leaving the door cracked and Keith can feel the cold air blow in through the crack. He doesn’t have a winter coat or a scarf. He does have a beanie which Jason makes him wear.

“You have to wear this got it?” Jason had brandished the ugly bright orange hat at him. Keith had taken it in delicate hands.

“Why?” his own voice still startled him sometimes. How rough it had become, how it had lost what some people would have called honey tones. Jason had sneered at him and ran a hand through Keith’s hair yanking it harshly.

“So when we’re out people won’t see that atrocity on your head.”

“But you made me cut my hair. If you had let me keep it then you wouldn’t be able to see the scar.”

It had been the wrong thing to say. His body had ached for a week after and his hands had shaken with an intensity to rattle coffee mugs. 

_ Fuck _ , Keith thinks and tears well in his eyes. He’s normally so good at hiding the shit that his relationship is, but seeing Lance has rocked him to his core. To see someone who used to dance with him was so dangerous, so relieving. Sometimes Keith isn’t sure he didn’t dream up his entire career as a ballet dancer, and seeing those blue eyes again had kicked his heart into a heavy pound. He felt somewhat bad for lying about not recognizing him, but Keith was used to lying to anyone that wasn’t Jason. It is a sick security blanket that got others hurt. He even saw the hurt flash across Lance’s eyes, but Lance was an anomaly. He was always so close to beating Keith and tried so hard to beat him. The few times Keith had actually approached him Lance had sneered and strode away on his long strong legs, leaving Keith at a loss.

He was back now and staring through Keith like he was clear water. He wasn’t really the Lance Keith remembers. Louder, brasher, definitely more dramatic. It suits him, Keith thinks with a smile. Better than the stoic boyfriend of Nyma Allen. Maybe they’re both growing into each other learning what the other is really like. Keith catches himself smiling a little sadly and chides himself. What sort of terrible boyfriend smiles about another boy, and especially another relationship.

“You’re welcome to go, Keith,” the cook is back, smelling like fresh cigarette smoke and day-old sweat. Keith nods. Taking his disgusting looking hat, clocking out and disappearing out a back door. He had been right, he thinks bitterly. The night air is closer to winter than fall. All sharp edges and white breath. He wraps his arms around himself, his sweatshirt doing very little to keep in the warm. Keith has to be grateful for the hat that keeps the chill off of his ears. There is no sign of Jason and he takes a trembling breath and shoots him a quick text asking if he should walk back to the apartment. The reply is a short yes. Keith isn’t sure if he wants to think about why Jason can’t come and get him. He hates driving with Jason in his big jeep, hates the smirk he tosses Keith before palming himself through his jeans. Hates the sting of Jason holding him down by his hair, hates himself after it’s over and he’s cast back to his side of the seat like a used shoe. Walking home though means he has to walk past his brother's dance studio. The place where he discovered his passion, the place where he fell, and failed and learned. The place he would love to call home.

It can’t be helped though and Keith has a curfew so he sets off down the road, his toes already frozen and his nose leaking. He thinks that maybe if he just shuts off his mind until he gets home the cold won’t be that bad. It’s a talent of his. Learned from the hand of drunken foster fathers, forgotten from the Shirogane's warmth, and relearned through Jason. He can zone out, throw his mind to a warm dance studio smelling of shoe polish, and whatever air freshener Shiro had chosen for that month. He can imagine himself dancing like he used to, while Jason uses him, but Jason learned too. Keith would stop responding in any way. No moans fake or otherwise, and no pleas, so he’d hit Keith. Hard. Sometimes on the face sometimes across his thighs, where he would spit about Keith's newly acquired stretch marks. Keith supposed he deserves it. He had gotten himself into the mess in the first place. He was the one who allowed Jason back into his life. He was the one who failed to win the competition that made James hate him.

“Hey! Oh my god!” 

He’s vaguely aware of someone yelling and the sensation of being yanked backward. It’s a sensation he’s used to, and he braces himself to hit the floor. He tried to remember what he had done, what room he had been in, where in the room. If he was in the kitchen then he was in danger of-

“Oh my god Keith,” he doesn’t hit the floor instead he’s being pressed against someone's heaving chest. He smells fabric softener and coconut, with the faintest hint of old spice deodorant. It’s not Jason. Jason smells hard and unforgiving. Thick cologne and something unpleasantly musky.

“Keith, Keith breath. Keith breathes with me please.”

He’s not breathing? What?

“What?” His voice is soft and cracked as his surroundings start to come back to him. He feels the throb in the back of his head first, and then he sees the leaf-strewn sidewalk and the street he was just about to walk into unaware. His heart thumps in postponed fear, not just because he could have just died, but because he has no idea who is holding him.  _ Still  _ holding him. He looks up and feels like laughing, or crying. Maybe both. Because staring down at him with wide blue eyes and ruffled hair is Lance.

“What the ever-living fuck man,” Lance spits. It’s harsh and breath and Keith can still feel his chest heaving. He opens his mouth to explain. Explain what though? So he closes it again and slips out of Lance’s grip. Keith regrets it instantly, Lance was like a furnace, and now Keith is standing cold in his thin clothes again.

“Uh, sorry.” his voice still isn’t like it should be. Weak and raspy. Lance just blinks at him and Keith drops his eyes to Lance’s feet. He’s in leggings, and he has a bag over his shoulder. A dance bag. It sends a gross pang of hurt through Keith’s chest.

“What the hell are you sorry for? Were you meaning to do that?” Lance’s tone is still sharp and Keith feels himself shirk back.

“N-no,” he shivers hard and Lance slumps his eyes going a little soft. He wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and leads him towards a bench. It’s probably a good thing too, as the ground seems to sway under his feet and he stumbles. Lance helps him sit down and works his coat off. It’s then that Keith realizes how wrong this is. He pushes the coat away.

“I-I can’t,” 

“Keith you’re shivering. I don’t mind, I’m wearing a sweater.”

Lance is wearing a sweater. Big and dark grey, it reminds him startlingly of a sweater he used to have. He is cold, freezing even, but he hasn't made enough money to get himself a coat so it was his own fault. “Please Keith?”

It was funny to hear his name said so many times. It was odd to not be called _honey-like_ it was supposed to mean something. Lance’s blue eyes are boring into his so he takes the coat and slips it over his shoulders, shivering at the change in temperature.

“What are you doing out here?” Keith asks, and Lance startles a little bit, maybe he wasn’t wanting to talk to Keith. He’s about to open his mouth to apologize when lance speaks.

“Well Allura finally got tired of me and kicked me out of the studio, so now I’m walking home.”

Allura. He hasn’t seen her in so long, not since before his mess up. He doubts she wants to see him, so he nods and burrows deeper into soft fabric and coconut. Lance is gnawing on his bottom lip and Keith wants to tell him to stop. Lance’s lips are pretty and clearly well taken care of. They aren't like Keith’s, should ever look like Keith’s. He kept his mouth closed.

“So uh, is there a reason you’re wandering around at night in thirty-degree weather without a coat?” Lance finally asks when the silence had stretched into awkward amounts.

“I’m going to my apartment,” Keith says and Lance snorts.

“You know, we have this magical thing called Uber.”

“It’s not far,” Keith argues feebly, but heaven forbid he pull up in front of Jason's place in a random car.

“Yeah but it’s literally below freezing tonight.”

“I know,” It’s all Keith can say as another throb tears through his skull and dizziness wash over him. He must sway to the side because Lance is reaching out to steady him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Woah. You are not doing okay. Are you hungry?”

That's an odd thing to ask, but as Keith thinks about it he realizes he hasn’t eaten since last night, and that had consisted of an evenly measured bowl of cereal.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

He can hear the frown in Lance’s voice, “Are you sure? You’re swaying like your blood sugar is down. You should know this, you’re an athlete.”

Keith flinches as Lance implies he still dances. He can’t dance anymore. He’s broken and he gained weight during his time in the hospital. Weight he has been too lazy to get rid of. 

“I’m not hungry. Just cold.”

Lance looks completely unconvinced and starts to stand. Keith scrambles to follow praying he won’t keel over. He’s taking off Lance’s heaven send of a coat, but Lance reaches over and pulls it firmly around him again. 

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you your coat back,” it’s not like Keith can keep it. Even if he really wants to.

“Uh, no. You are doing no such thing.” Lance strides past him, walking towards Jason’s apartment and Keith stares at him until Lance motions him to follow. He does, like a magnet drawn to its opposite.

Lance leads him to a little coffee shop. It looks overshadowed by the large flickering yellow words that spell out coffee on the roof. The inside looks warm and Keith can taste the dark taste of coffee in the back of his throat as they draw nearer. He stops though, right as Lance reaches for the door, pulling back and away. This was wrong. His curfew is drawing dangerously near and he shouldn’t be out with someone. Lance notices his pause and turns back to look at him. Keith feels dizzy from lack of blood sugar and lethargic from his long hours. His eyes blur Lance’s shape outlined by the golden glow behind him.

“Keith?” 

Keith jerks and licks over his lips, “Sorry, but why are we here?”

“You said you were cold. Best way to warm up is with a hot drink.”

“I don’t know if I should. It’s late I have,” he pauses. He doesn’t have work tomorrow. He hates not having work.

Lance waves him away, “It won’t be long. Come on.”

Keith shouldn’t, he really really shouldn’t. He pulls his dwindling phone out of his pocket and checks the time. He has maybe thirty minutes if he hurries he’s trembling from the cold though and Lance had walked him all the way here. 

The coffee shop smells good. Nice and warm with a hint of sharp spices Keith can’t name. He shivers as Lance leads him towards the counter. There’s a girl with faded pink hair and a drawn-on freckles standing at the register. She smiles at Lance and chirps out a greeting. Keith stares up at the chalk-drawn menu panic washing over him. When was the last time he ordered something for himself? Did he even have enough money to even afford a simple cup of coffee? Can he spend any of the money he has?

Lance nudges his side, “What do you want?”

And no, no that’s not going to work. Keith isn’t worth Lance wasting his money.

“It’s on me,” Lance says as if that fixes anything. Keith shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Uh, yeah I know. But I  _ want  _ to, so there.”

The barista’s smile has slipped her lips, replaced by an annoyed scowl, so Keith lets lance buy him the cheapest thing on the menu. A simply black coffee. The crmer was free. 

They sit at a little table in the middle of the shop, away from the windows that are white with condensation. The temperatures warring against each other. Lance sprawls across the area. One long leg stretched out fully under the table, his toes brushing Keith’s chair. The other one he keeps folded low so his knee won’t brush the top of the table. Keith huddles small. Taking up as little space as he can. Hunching low in Lance’s coat and wrapping his hands around his drink. There were only two little cups of creamer on the table. Keith normally doesn’t like bitter coffee, but he was scared that it would cool the beverage too fast. He sips it and winces, but it sends a shock wave of warmth through him. He shivers at the new sensation. Lance is watching him, maybe waiting for Keith to start the conversation. He has nothing to say though, so he sits there and drinks his coffee.

“So uh, why are you walking home?”  
Keith shrugs, which isn’t really a lie. He isn’t sure why Jason decided to leave him to walk home. “I wanted to.”

“Without a coat? Okay, man. Whatever floats your boat I guess.” Lance pushes his chair back onto two legs and takes a long drink from the foaming concoction he had ordered. He stares right over Keith's head at the menu and it makes Keith squirm in his seat. Rubbing his hands together. God, this was an awful idea. Any other day and Keith might have been able to keep an intelligent conversation going with the man. He’s tired today though. Grossly tired. Surely Lance can see it oozing off of him, puddling on the ground.

Lance’s chair hits the floor on all four legs. It makes a loud screeching noise and Keith flinches his hands going tight around his mug. Lance doesn’t notice and runs a hand through his floppy brown hair, making it stick up.

“I’m not going to lie to you, this is fucking weird.”

Keith lets a bitter little smile flick across his face. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

Those blue eyes are on him again, staring at Keith like he’s a puzzle he can’t figure out. Lance’s teeth are back on his pretty lips, chewing away. He wants to say something, Keith can tell and he is scared of what it might be. 

“I haven’t really seen you much of anywhere except at the diner. Are you planning some secret dance routine or something?”

He thinks Lance meant to be joking, but his tone is a bit too clipped. A bit too dark, and his eyes still won’t settle on Keith. It makes him angry which is a welcome emotion. It has him sitting straighter, his mind still exhausted and his bones still aching, but his blood singing with a fury he thought had been beaten out of him.

“Oh yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He spits it covered in venom at Lance. Lance levels his gaze at him, jaw locking and the tendons in his neck flexing tight. 

“I knew it. That’s why you’ve been so quiet since your fall. So what, was James too flawed to be kept around? Aren’t you tired of constantly beating everyone?”

“Fuck you,” Keith grits, and  _ god _ , this was a stupid idea. Keith had known when he had been dancing that the other dancers hated him, but damn he hasn’t set foot in a dance studio in half a year. Lance leans across the table his blue eyes flaming.

“Well, I’m gonna beat you this year.”

Keith stands. He’s angry and exhausted and he feels new panic and bile climbing up his throat. He shucks off Lance’s coat and throws it at him. Lance catches it in startled surprise.

“I don’t dance anymore you fucking asshole,” and then he’s heading for the door, humiliation burns heavy against his skin. He vaguely hears Lance scrambled after him.

“Keith wait!”

He doesn’t wait, and Lance chases him down the sidewalk grabbing his elbow before he can turn a corner.

“Let go of me.” and it comes out more exhausted than threatening. Lance doesn’t let go of him.

“What do you mean you don’t dance anymore? How can you not dance anymore?” Keith stares at him. Was the idiot blind? Keith was in no shape to be dancing and he definitely wasn’t in shape for someone who supposedly had been dancing for months. Keith works his arm loose and steps away from Lance, his arms coming up to warm him and shield him. His stomach still had bruises on it from a few days ago. He would rather Lance hit his face.

“I don’t dance anymore. I mean exactly what I said.”

Lance waves his hands around,” You can’t just _not_ dance anymore!” 

Keith just shrugs because he’s  _ tired _ and cold, and he can already feel the bruises he’s gonna get for being late. Lance looks like he might faint, he turns in a circle, a hand pressed over his mouth, his coat still hanging off his arm. He turns back towards Keith in a flurry.

“You mean you aren’t dancing right now, right? You’re gonna be back for the season right?”

Keith lets out an exhausted laugh, it echoes down the street sounding a little hysterical. He gestures himself, “Do I look like I dance anymore? Do I look like I’m coming back for the season, do I look like I’ve been secretly practicing? You’re fucking hilarious.”

Now Lance looks like he’s been slapped, his jaw slack, his eyebrows high. Keith scoffs an angry hot knot in his throat, but not a single tear in his eye.

“Good luck Lance,” Keith says and he starts to walk away again. Lance grabs his bruised wrist and Keith sucks in the gasp of pain that fights it’s way up to his throat.

“Call me, Keith please.” He sounds desperate. Keith looks over his shoulder at him, letting his heartbreak over him just this once.

“No.” he twists his wrist out of Lance’s grip and hurries away. He refuses to look back because he knows Lance will still be standing under the flickering light of a street lamp, brown hair turned golden and blue eyes ringed in confusion.

~*~*~*~*~

His hands are trembling from more than the cold as he fumbles his key out of his pocket. He isn’t terribly late he thinks and takes a deep breath as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. The kitchen is dark, smelling like booze and perfume. Sticky and nauseating. Keith sits to untie his shoes running the tips of his fingers over the tears forming along the seams of the canvas. He feels a stupid sene of vulnerability as he leaves his shoes by the door, left only in thin socks. Wandering through the small apartment Keith’s stomach flips and churns. Their bedroom door is closed, and a light shows from under it. Keith counts to three, letting himself breathe before rapping his knuckles lightly against it. He does not want to walk in on Jason and one of his girls again. When he gets a low come in, Keith isn't sure how to feel, but he goes in anyway. 

Jason narrows his gaze on him and Keith tries not to flinch back away from it. He doesn’t move closer to the bed where Jason is sprawled, instead, Jason gets up and comes to him.

“You’re late honey,” Big hands rub over Keith’s chilled arms, and it would be comforting but Jason knows where all of Keith’s bruises are. He forces down a shiver as lips press against his forehead and a hand clamps down on a bruise.“Why don’t you take a shower? You’re making me sick.” Jason holds out a hand and Keith gives him his phone. There isn’t anything on it anyways. Jason pats his cheek and pushes him towards the bathroom.

Keith goes willingly grabbing what he needs with as little fan fair as possible and slipping into the bathroom. The doors don’t lock anymore, and Keith faces it as he slips out of his gross feeling clothes. He can hear Jason moving around outside, he squeezes his eyes shut and turns on the shower avoiding his reflection as he steps into the spray. It feels good. The hot water thawing him out the rest of the way and soothing over his bruised body. He’s kneading shampoo into his hair when the bathroom door opens. Keith freezes, he can barely make out Jason’s figure moving around outside. He’s going to get into the shower with him Keith realizes. Dropping his hands from his hair he rises it out and grabs blindly for the body wash, if he hurries maybe he can get out before Jason gets in. He fumbles the dottle and it hits the shower floor with a jarring thump. Jason picks it up as he climbs in.

Keith turns his face to the shower spray his mind a mess of noise and fear. Jason is touching him, hands sliding down his back towards Keith's ass. He grips one of Keith’s cheeks kneading it roughly. Keith jerks and turns away from him.

“Jason, not tonight.” his voice trembles and he  _ hates  _ it. Jason grabs at him harder and Keith grabs his wrist. He doesn’t want this, not now, not ever again. “No. Stop it, I don’t want this.” it’s never worked before and it doesn’t right then. Jason growls and brackets Keith against the wall, the cold tiles biting savagely against his bare chest and shoulders.

Jason’s mouth is right up against his ear and Keith can feel his arousal against his back. Teeth clamp hard and painful onto Keith’s ear, “Why not? Got something to hide?”

“N-no. Jason, I’m tired, please.” This was obviously the wrong thing to say. Jason all but slams him against the slick tiles of the bathroom wall, his grip on Keith’s waist becoming painful.

“You're tired?” Jason sneers in his ear and Keith can’t help the pained grunt that skips past his lips. “You’re pathetic. Get home late and all you can think about is yourself.”

The slap hurts but Jason is stepping away from him, spitting insults and leaving the shower open as he steps out. Keith crumbles, curling into himself under the cooling water. His breaths are heaving and nausea rolls in his stomach. He can’t do this anymore, at this point he hopes that Jason will go too far one day and kill him. Not for the first time, Keith yearns for Shiro, but he had ruined things with his brother, and months of radio silence are bound to tell Shiro he never wants to see him again. He’s thought about running away, but Jason is powerful and Shiro’s life work is resting on Keith’s shaking shoulders. He buries his head in his arms and cries, his body feels nastier then it had before.

He gets out after he notices the water has turned to ice daggers stabbing harshly into his back. He’s shivering and the freezing bathroom is a second shock to him. He pulls on his clothes and steps gingerly out of the bathroom. Jason is on the bed scrolling through his phone. He looks up as Keith closes the bathroom door. He doesn’t know if Jason is going to banish him to the living room he silently prays he does, but no. Jason holds out his arms and beacons for Keith to come to him.

He’s pulled under the covers and Jason nuzzles into his neck.

I don’t understand why you have to be so difficult honey. Surely you want some relief after a long day.” Keith suppresses a shiver as Jason mouths wet hot kisses to the back of his neck and presses himself against Keith’s rear. “Keith,” Jason growls and Keith bites his lip staring at the wall resolutely. “The fuck is wrong with you tonight? What have I said about being stubborn honey?” Jason digs a hand into his hair when he doesn’t answer yanking his head back and making pain flare along the new scar. “What do I say, Keith?”

“It makes me a bitch.” Keith whispers, his throat bobbing from the way his neck is pulled back.

“That’s right honey. And no one likes a bitch.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

He’s back to work on Friday. Thursday had been hell on earth. Keith had expected to wake up alone, with remnants of Jason sticking to him, and then go one about his day peacefully. But Jason had still been there, an arm wrapped tightly around Keith. He hadn’t gotten the apartment to himself and he  _ hurt _ when they finally crawled back in bed that night, and Keith had never wanted to sweat and get yelled at by customers more.

He tries to be okay, brushing off Acxa when she asks, she always asks and he’s starting to realize perhaps she was the wrong person to make friends with. She corners him after the lunch rush. He had spilled a tray over a customer and spent fifteen minutes panicking and okay he supposes she has a reason to be glaring at him with burning eyes.

“You need to tell me what’s wrong. Stop acting like you’re okay.” she’s mad slamming her tray down on a table and Keith flinches.

“I’m fine, Acxa. I’m fine.” he looks everywhere but at her and she lets out an angry huff.

“No, you aren’t! He treats you like shit Keith!”

“He doesn’t,” Keith says. It’s weak, the lie slipping from his lips easily. Acxa growls and looks like she wants to shake him.

“Bullshit Kogane. I’ve seen the fucking bruises, and the fucking  _ terror  _ in your eyes when he comes to pick you up. Don’t try to lie to me, I know what it’s like.”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut, a headache is climbing from the back of his skull to his forehead. “Acxa, it’s not a big deal.”

Her fists clench tight and Keith is positive she would slap him if the conversation were about anything else. “It is a big deal. It's a big deal when you can barely walk and panic over spilled food that wasn’t even paid for yet. It’s a big deal that you’re hurting.”

Keith feels tears gather in his eyes and he scrubs them away before they can fall. Acxa takes his arm and peers into the kitchen, “Paul! Take over for Keith for a little.” The other waiter looks up and gives a thumbs up from where he is sitting in the corner eating something.

Acxa takes Keith outside, out into the smoke smelling corner where the cooks take their breaks. She sits him down on a crate, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He watches her leave and buries his head in his hands. He’s fucked up. No one was supposed to find out, no one was supposed to care. Keith is fine, he can survive until Jason gets tired of him, or until he can support himself and leave on his own. Acxa is back pressing a warm mug into his hands, he takes it with a grateful hum and sips at it. It’s the bitter tea that the diner serves. He hates bitter things, but it calms him so he bares through it, and drains the cup. Acxa watches him, leaning against the wall, her arms folded.

“How long?” she asks and Keith looks up confused. She rolls her eyes, “How long has he been abusing you, Keith.”

Keith swallows thickly the tea suddenly turning to molasses in his throat. How long had it been? He was with Jason two months before the fall, one month before the fallout with Shiro. He had slapped Keith for the first time a month before his fall, but Keith doesn’t count that. He was being annoying and Jason was tired. He even apologized for it. So he shrugs.

“It hasn’t been long. I think it’s just because things have been stressful at work for him.”

Acxa’s purple eyebrows narrow, and her teeth mess with the ring on her bottom lip, “So he comes home and takes it out on you?”

“Not always.”

Acxa throws her hands up, “Fuck Keith! It doesn’t have to be always! It should be never!”

Keith frowns and glares at her, “Why the fuck do you care? You barely like me!”

“Fuck you, Keith, I’m your friend, and the same thing happened to me asshole!”

Keith’s frown softens and he feels terrible. No one should have to go through that, “Acxa I’m sorry,”

Her cold glare is back on him again, “Shut up,” she snaps and he does. “I want to be angry with you, fuck I should be you dick, but I was in the same boat as you at one point, and if my situation was anything like yours is then I understand.” She lets out a shaky sigh after her spiel, running a hand up into her hair and leaving it spiked.

“How did you get out?” Keith asks, and he’s afraid of the answer. Acxa slides down the wall next to his crate.

“Well, I realized I was full lesbian three months into my shit hole of a relationship. It made everything three times worse. I couldn’t bear to even touch him anymore and that meant he forced me a lot. One night he went too far, he had me held down and he broke my back in two places. It was either have a corpse on his hands or call the police. He went to prison after that.”

Keith nods, placing his cup on the ground, “So it took you almost dying.”

Acxa nods. She looks out at the street and he gazes with her, his ribs smarting as he curled up against the wall. His arms wrapping around his legs. 

“Yeah. I thought so,” he mumbles, his eyes slipping closed against the freezing wind that blows up against the wall they’re braced against. Acxa doesn’t say anything else.

Lance comes bounding into the diner ten minutes before closing. His hair is a nightmare and his cheeks and ears are kissed pink from the cold weather. He’s in his dance clothes and Keith’s heart aches at the sight of his gaudy leg warmers. Acxa who had been overly clingy since their talk in the back glares as Lance peers towards the kitchens. Keith sighs and slips his little notebook into the pocket of his apron.

“Hi, would you like a booth or a table?” he keeps his eyes just over Lance’s right shoulder when he asks the question. He pulls a menu out of the little compartment in the podium. Lance shakes his head stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Neither. I actually just came to talk to you.”

Keith finally meets his eyes, “Me?” he sighs, he doesn’t have the strength for this tonight. He sticks his hand into his pocket for the tips he got that day. He pulls out a ten even though he can’t remember how much the coffee Lance got him was. He slides it across the podium to Lance. Blue eyes widen at it.

“The hell’s that for?” he asks and Keith frowns at him.

“Uh, to pay you back for the coffee and probably weirding you the fuck out.”

Lance is still just staring at him and it’s getting annoying how often he does that.

“You don’t have to pay me back for that.”

Keith squints at him but slips the bill back in his pocket, “What do you want to talk to me about then?”

Lance runs long tan fingers up into his hair. He has freckles. Keith hadn’t noticed them, Lance wore makeup during competitions and Keith was so out of it last time he hadn’t seen the sprinkling across his nose and cheeks. 

“You said you don’t dance anymore right?” Lance asks and Keith wishes he would stop asking him that. He nods in response though.

“Yes. I told you I don’t dance anymore.”

“Okay. Well, I was wondering if you still choreograph.”

Keith blinks. Jason hadn’t told him he couldn’t do that. His body doesn’t need to be how it used to be to do that, but why would he even want to.

“Uh, maybe. I guess I could. Why?”

Lance looks ready to vibrate out of his skin, “ Do you think you could maybe choreograph a dance for me?”

Keith snaps his mouth shut unaware he had dropped his jaw. “You want me to create a dance for you?”

Lance nods. Keith lets out a breath, he can’t deny the excitement that crawls cautiously into his chest. He isn’t going behind Jason’s back if he does this, it isn’t dancing. Lance won’t ever touch him, it’s not cheating.

“Why me though? Shouldn’t you talk to your partner?”

“Oh ah, I’m dancing solo this year.” Lance finally drops his eyes as he admits it. Keith raises his eyebrows.

“That’s a big change.” he gets a silent nod in answer.

“I-I’ll pay you,” Lance blurts after the silence stretches. Keith does some quick math, depending on how much he tells Lance to pay him, as well what he earns at the diner, minus what he gives to Jason, he might be able to move away by the end of the year.

“Okay,”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up, “Wait, really?”

Keith nods, “You’re paying me.”

Lance whoops, hopping around in a circle before remembering he’s in public and coming back to the podium, “Awesome! So uh where do you want to meet?”

“Here. Every Friday. I stay after work for a few hours to deep clean before the weekend.” it’s not a dance studio but it’s the best he can do. Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

“I can’t believe this is happening. Thank you so much Keith!” his phone goes off and Lance flinches. He pulls it out and his eyes go wide, “Oh fuck it’s late. See you Wednesday Keith, and then Friday!” Lance is halfway out the door when he calls back to Keith, and then he’s hurrying away braced against the cold. 

Acxa comes up next to him with a look of worry on her face. Keith ignores it.


	3. Lance

Lance is excited, and nervous but mostly excited. Friday had both crawled and sped towards him this week. Lance had chickened out of going to the diner that Wednesday so the week drug on longer with no alternative distraction. His lectures had gone in one ear and out the other, and he’d annoyed poor Hunk with his incessant whining. He was so ready, so confident, until Friday actually happened and Lance was overcome with nerves. Pidge had kicked him out of his dorm so she could help Hunk pack, so Lance had to wait the two hours until the diner to close, walking the sidewalk back and forth. He checks his phone with frozen fingers. He still has half an hour, but the sun had long since gone down and it was fucking cold. 

The diner is blessedly warm as he slips through the door. There’s a single other person at a far table and Lance can see Keith refilling his coffee cup. He waits at the little podium and feels disappointment wash over him as Keith glances at him before going back to the kitchen. Lance sighs and rocks back on his heels, maybe he should rethink how this is going to go. Keith had shown little to no interest in anything but the money, and that’s all this is, a job. Keith isn’t looking for a friend in him, and he needs to be okay with that. He straightened out of his pout though as Keith came over to the podium.

“Hi, again, uh, do you want to sit down? We're almost closed.” Keith is clutching a rag and Lance grimaces at the chapped state of his hands, he guesses the bleach they use for cleaning isn’t doing him any good. It’s a weird thing to think about Lance realizes abruptly. 

“Uh, yeah I’ll sit down.”

Keith gives him a jagged little nod and leads him over to a little two person table, “I’ll be back in a little bit. I have to go give this guy his ticket.”

Lance watches Keith move around the floor of the diner. Wiping down tables, putting up chairs, wishing his coworkers a goodnight, and finally flipping the open sign off. He hesitates for a little before coming back over to Lance. He sits just as hesitantly and awkwardness falls over them. Lance starts sweating under his coat and Keith stairs at the table. 

“So um,” Keith starts carefully, his fingers pluck at each other, “How do you want to do this?”

Lance licks over his lips relieved that he didn’t have to start the conversation, “Well I got news yesterday that I have some sponsors for this season.”Keith nods, yanking at a hand nail. Lance winces but doesn’t say anything about it.

“That’s good. If you end up needing more, I can recommend a few of the sponsors I had.”

“They aren’t going to want anyone after you Keith.” it falls out of his mouth before he can stop it. Keith furrows his brow, a dark look coming over his eyes.

“If you don’t want to look into them then fine. I don’t have too much time today.”

It’s Lance’s turn to frown, “I thought maybe you’d clear your schedule or something. Don’t these things need a lot of time?”

“We have to talk about it before I start making anything Lance.” Keith snaps, and that’s true. Lance has to admit he isn’t acting like he should in this situation. Choreographers always talk to the dancers first.

He sighs as he leans back in his chair, “Okay. What do you need to know?”

Keith looks relieved and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and a pen. “What’s your theme?”

Lance had thought long and hard about his theme. He likes his themes to mean something, he likes them to be personal, but he also doesn’t want the audience sto be able to immediately read what he’s trying to say. Lance is pretty sure that’s why he had sucked so much last season. The theme Nyma had chosen meant nothing. Their dance was empty and plastic. So Lance had chosen the theme of victory. He’d won all last season and he wanted people to know he planned to continue his streak.

“I chose victory,” Lance says. Keith looks up at him, his eyes narrowed, but he writes it down anyways.

“Any music you’ve been considering?”

“ I was thinking Vivaldi’s La Stravaganza.”

Keith drops his pen and gaps at him, “This?” he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He messes with it for a bit and stares up at Lance as the music starts playing. Lance nods crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything! Lance you have a minimum for six minutes to dance! This music’s high points are halfway through the song and it’s high points do not scream victory. It screams battle being fought and you might be losing!”

Lance can’t get over the way his name falls from Keith’s mouth and yeah he should not be focusing on that, but it’s something he thought would never happen. He also feels a little bit hurt that his music choice had been so readily dismissed.

“Well what do you want me to do?! Pull a you and dance to something that is barely within the requirements? You nearly got disqualified for that! Not all of us come from a rich company who can buy the judges' votes.”

Kieth blinks at him, and Lance half expects him to yell at him or at least leave, he doesn’t though. He just sighs a little and looks down at his list, “I can work with these things. I’ll go over the music and come up with some basic moves you can perform.”

Lance glares at him. It’s disconcerting and wrong the way Keith just, _isn’t_ Keith. Lance crosses his arms over his chest, “Okay, what’s wrong with you?”

Keith looks up at him warily, “Nothing?”

“Bullshit,” Lance said and Keith flinches. He grits his teeth and looks down at the table.

“I’m fine. It’s been a long time and i’m working with a stubborn asshole.”

Lance scoffs, “I’m the asshole? You’re the one that lived in his own little world. Never caring about anyone else, never making friends. You had the dance scene in the palm of your hands and you didn’t fucking care. Yeah I’m some asshole.”

“Oh yeah and what was supposed to do? Spend the nights after competitions getting drunk with people who didn’t like me? You never approached me either. None of you did. All you were was competition that I could easily beat, because you made yourselves that. I would have fucking lived if I’d been invited after or if I hadn’t been politely asked to not come.” Keith is seething spitting the words through clenched teeth.

“You were a coddled little prince! Everything was handed to you!” Lance yells, throwing his arms up. Keith flinches hard away from him. His chair made a terrible screeching noise as it scraped across the floor. His chest heaved and if lance wasn’t feeling so good about getting his anger off of his chest he would’ve stopped.

“Not all of us were born with natural talent, not all of us had Takashi fucking Shirogane at our backs! You were just so conceited that we had to hate you! When you got dropped I swear it was like the heavens parted.” Lance freezes. He hadn’t meant that, but had he? With Keith out of the way, he had won, won for the first time in years. He no longer was second best. 

Keith’s eyes widen and his lips part, hurt written across his face until it closes off again, “You don’t know anything about me. I do have to go though, I’ll come back with something next week.” he stands, slowly carefully and flips his chair onto the table. He disappears in the kitchen and Lance watches as lights flick out. 

“Keith,” he says when he comes back into the dining area clutching that ugly beanie, “I didn’t mean that at all. It was terrifying when James dropped you. I’m sorry I'm being so awful, I just was, am, so jealous of you. Which isn’t an excuse, there’s just a lot of anguish about you.” he tries to laugh it off, but Keith’s frown remains etched deeply into his face.

Keith walks past him to the door, he fiddles with the security system and then opens the door for Lance, a clear sign for him to leave.

“You shouldn’t be jealous of me Lance.” 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Lance whines, throwing himself onto the couch and flipping upside down to look at Hunk where he’s sitting on the floor tapping boxes.

“Oh I know,” Hunk responds offhandedly counting the boxes he has piled around and looking slightly worried.

“My life is over,”

“It’s really not,”

“I should just die!”

“Please don’t.”

“Huunk,” Lance wails and Hunk turns to glare at him.

“What? Your life isn’t over and this is nothing to die over. It’s your fault you’ve done nothing but think about him.”

Lance gasps slapping his hand over his heart, “I have not!”

Hunk reaches over and flips Lance’s phone over, and sure enough there is the damning evidence. Lance had been watching the few tapings of Keith’s performances. He’s watched them all, over and over, slumped on the couch, his fingers stained with Cheetos dust. Keith is paused mid leap, his hands splayed delicately towards the lights. Lance gasps and grabs his phone from Hunk’s hands.

“You can’t prove anything!”

Hunk sighs and tosses his hands in the air, “This isn’t healthy Lance, and why the hell do you care so much? I thought you hated how good he was.”

Lance throws his phone onto the couch and sighs. He hasn’t felt right since his and Keith’s whatever that was. He just can’t believe that Keith doesn’t dance anymore. He was the living breathing embodiment of dance.

“I just feel like my life has turned upside down, again. How can he not dance anymore Hunk?” He can tell he’s whining and Hunk shrugs. 

“Think about it Lance, he got hurt. Some injuries last forever.”

Lance slumps, “I know, but he was barely himself. He was like a shadow. The fire was completely gone from him.”

Hunk sighs again, running a hand up his face to tug on his head band, “I don’t know what to tell you man. Maybe just let him alone. It probably was hard for him to stop dancing.”

“Yeah no shit,” Lance mutters, thinking back to Keith’s unfocused eyes and trembling form. “Well, I guess I should just go on with my life, except for the fact that I have no idea what I’m even doing!”

Hunk stands shaking his head dragging Lance up with him, “Go. Go dance. Please, you aren’t helping me.”

Lance goes, stepping out into the cold fall air and bundling himself up. It’s barely noon, and the air is so crisp it stings. Lance apologizes to Hunk, he does feel bad, Hunk waves him away already calling up Pidge to come help him. He makes sure to not walk past the diner on his way to the studio. He just, he’s rattled. Keith isn’t the person that Lance thought he was, and their first choreography meeting had been the absolute worst. Lance had been beating himself up over the stupid words that fell out of his mouth, and the stupid thing is that it had felt nice. Saying those things to Keith, besides maybe telling him he was happy when he got hurt, lifted something off of Lance. He tries not to think about it too much.

Allura is helping mothers bundle their little ballerina’s up for the cold. She’s talking to a man with dark skin and brown eyes as he pulls on a tiny little girl’s shoes. Lance skirts around people towards Allura.

“She really is progressing very fast.” Allura was saying as Lance drew nearer. The man laughs, pulling a pink sparkling strap across a pink sparkly shoe. 

“Kashi teaches her a lot at home,” He stands and holds out a hand for the little girl, “You ready to go home?”

“Yup!” she hops off the bench and catches sight of Lance standing a little ways off a little awkwardly. The little girl grabs the man’s pant leg and buries her face against the fabric.

“Oh, hi Lance. You’re here early.” Allura says straightening. Her hair is piled high on her head in a tight bun. Lance smiles a little and nods,

“Uh yeah, my roommate kicked me out for a bit.”

Allura frowns reaching into the pumpkin bowl and holding a candy out to the little girl, “Must have been bad if you annoyed Hunk that much.”  
Lance huffs crossing his arms, “ He’s been uptight lately.”

Allura hums, “Anyways, Lance, this is Curtis, Shiro’s husband, and their daughter Fay.”

Lance’s smile still feels tight as he shakes Curtis’s hand, “Hi, I’m Lance.”

Curtis nods, “You’re a very skilled dancer.” he hoists Fay onto his hip and talks quietly to her. She shakes her head and buries her face in his shoulder. Curtis laughs a little, “Sorry about that she normally isn’t this shy. She’s a big fan of yours.”

Lance can’t help the scoff that leaves his lips. She is a big fan of his when Keith Kogane is her uncle? Yeah fucking right. Allura levels a hot glare onto him and he swallows. 

“Well thanks Fey, I bet one day you’ll beat me.” he smiles at her and Curtis smiles in her place. Lance licks his lips and takes a chance, “Have you seen Keith in awhile?”

Curtis’s smile drops off of his lips. His eyes even lose some of their friendly light. Fay looks up from her dad's shoulder to peer at his face.

“No. No we haven’t heard from Keith in awhile.”

“What? How?” Lance asks, shifting his bag. Surely Allura would have known if there was a problem. She reaches out and lays a hand on Curtis’s arm.

“Has something happened?” she asks, and the half hidden confusion rings clear in her voice. Lance can understand though.

Curtis shifts his daughter on his hip, “Keith has been living with his boyfriend for almost a year now. He moved out of the area.”

Lance narrows his eyes, “Boyfriend? And no he hasn’t.”

Curtis levels a sharp gaze on him, “What are you talking about? Keith hasn’t lived in the city since he was discharged. Takashi hasn’t talked to him in months.”

“He works at a diner a few blocks from here!” Lance exclaims and if his life had been weird as of late it just doubled it absurdity. Curtis doesn’t look much better. HIs shin has gone pale and his eyes look distanced. 

“I-I think we’re gonna go now Allura. See you next Tuesday.” he all but runs out the door, Fay raises a hand to wave.

Odd, Lance thinks. She acted like she has no idea who Keith is.

He dances now to distract himself, his thoughts raging and his steps faltering. Allura sits observing him as she stretches on the floor. Her brows are drawn down tightly and her lips purse. Lance executes a messy final to the routine that’s been biting his butt, and comes to a halt panting.

“What?” he pants at Allura, bent over with his hands on his knees. Allura stands, all fluid grace and pink leg warmers.

“I should be asking you that. You’re dancing like you’re fighting.”

Lance drops to the floor, crossing his legs and picking at the scuff lines. “Yeah. Life has been weird lately.”

“Mmm, tell me about it.”

“I ran into Keith a few weeks ago.” Allura’s eyes widen when he looks at her. 

“At the diner?” she asks and Lance nods. He struts over to his water bottle and slips on to the floor to work on cool down stretches. 

“He doesn’t dance anymore.”

Allura looks a little perplexed, “Honestly I think I’d be a little more stunned if the whole conversation earlier hadn’t have happened. I wonder if I should call Shiro.”

Lance sighs into his stretches, the burn delicious, maybe he should have just tried stretching today.

“I asked him to choreograph a dance for me.”

He sees Allura’s mouth drop open, “You what?”

Lance shrugs bending forwards to lay on the floor, “His dances are always amazing. He’s not competing, why not use him.”

Allura looks like Lance has personally offended her and everything she holds dear to her. “Lance, what about the sponsors, what about me? Do you think just anyone can choreograph a dance for you?”

“Uh, yeah. There aren’t any rules against it.”

Allura runs a hand down her face, tugging the strands of hair that have fallen from her bun. “Okay fine, there aren't any rules against it, but what if you run out of time?”  
Lance sits back up breathing rhythmically, “He already has started. It’s fine. Besides I’m a fast learner.”

“Was my dance not good enough for you?”  
Lance looks over at Allura, a heavy frown sits on her face, “No! No, it was good. I liked it, but I wanted something unique.”

Allura glares, “You just wanted to spend time with a legend.”

Lance sighs, “Listen, we never said I would use the dance you were coming up with. I want to do something that’s my own, and yeah. I want to work with a legend. Like can’t you imagine how amazing I’ll look?”

He can see it now, dancing Keith’s steps under the bright lights of the stage, his costume sparkling, screaming victory. He lets out a happy sigh. Allura still looks unimpressed.

“Okay, so should I put Keith Kogane down as your coach?” 

Lance sits up, “No. He isn’t my coach.” he scoffs, “He’s just making the dance. No one has to know. I mean you do, but the judges and stuff don’t have to.”

“That sounds like you’re using him.” Allura says.

Lance frowns, “I’m paying him. Therefore it’s not using him. Besides he doesn’t sound like he wants anything to do with dance anymore.”

“That's...odd,” Allura murmurs. Lance shrugs, taking another deep drink from his water bottle.

“I thought so too, I’m still waiting for him to make a comeback and destroy us all. Speaking of which, have you heard who is competing in the solo division this year?”

Allura blows out a breath and walks over to where her phone is plugged into the speaker system. She messes with it for a little bit.

“Yeah, uh, James is solo this year, which isn’t surprising at all.”

Lance snorts, “If I dropped my partner like he dropped Keith, I would never show my face on stage again.”

The glare he gets from Allura is withering, “I think your mind is stuck on gold Lance. You’ve been a dick lately. It’s terrifying dropping your partner, I’m sure it had a massive effect on him.”

Lance waves her away, “I haven’t been a dick, I’ve been determined. I’m gonna win, and not just win but I’m gonna push Keith off of the podium he stood on.”


	4. Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up with this chapter my dear readers. There is some violence and a nasty bruise described. Abuse is mentioned but the act of the bruise forming is not graphic. Panic Attack towards the end of the chapter as well, it stars with “Keith?” he forgot Lance was there," and ends with "Keith takes several shuddering breaths." It's not long or too bad but I'll leave this hear if anyone wants to skip it.

It’s wrong. All wrong. 

Keith narrows his eyes as he listens through Lance’s chosen music for the tenth time. It just isn’t _good_. In fact he would go as far as to say it sucks. He can tell Lance put about three secs of thought into his song. He chose the first classical piece that sounded remotely “cool.” There’s too much going on in the music and yet not enough. It frustrates Keith to no end.

He’s home alone today, pressing a frozen TV dinner to his ribs and glancing at the door and clock every few minutes. Jason isn’t supposed to be home until late but Keith doesn’t want to risk anything. He counts it as a blessing that the only thing he got from their spat the night before was a nice violet streak along his ribs. He won’t even blame Jason for that one, he was the one who had snapped at Jason. Being slammed into the counter should have been expected.

Keith groans, tossing his phone to the other end of the couch. He’s been trying to come up with dance moves that match the music for days now. Lance had very clearly voiced his opinions on Keith’s more controversial dance moves, so he doesn’t think he should put any of them into the routine. Sticking with frilly pirouettes and soft turns just isn’t working though. Keith bites his lip and eyes the clear space in their kitchen. The floor is perfect and the counter can act as a barre. He’s hurt though and he can’t really dance anymore. Lance is paying him, and he needs money.

Keith pushes himself off of the couch trembling as he drops the frozen dinner onto the cushions. His ribs hurt, but his heart pounds as he places his hand on the counter. He steps into first position. He stands tall and turns his feet out, his heart is hammering and he has to take several breaths to keep himself from spiraling into hyperventilation. The struggle this simple step is giving him is agony. Agony for his sore body but also agony to his mind that’s screaming a mix of joy and paralyzing horror. He was a dancer, he grits his teeth as tears build in his eyes. He was a dancer and his body knows it, his feet fall into the position with ease. _He_ _was a dancer_ , but it hurts.

His mouth hurts from how hard he’s been clenching his teeth. He slides into second, and then back into third. It’s so easy. 

He stops, his ribs are on fire and he sucks in a breath lifting his shirt to peer at them. Maybe he had hurt more than skin. The area around the pain is a scary black color. He sits back down, tired from the exertion his thoughts and emotions had put him through. Keith’s ears burn in embarrassment as he presses the dinner to his side again. It hurts and he flops onto his other side. 

Not for the first time, Keith wonders what it would be like to just stop existing. He wouldn’t have to swallow back bile when he hears his boyfriend unlocking the door in the evenings. He wouldn’t have to muffle sobs into his pillow thinking about his brother. He would be able to dance like he once did. 

Keith closes his eyes tight, smashing his face into the couch cushions. 

He must have fallen asleep. When he blinks awake his side is wet and smelling slightly of gravy. If anything it hurts more and he gasps as he sits up. Pulling up his shirt he grimaces and a flash of fear works its way into his mind. 

“Fuck,” he breaths and even that hurts. “Holy fuck it was not that bad last night.” Something had to be broken or something. Keith brings shaking fingers to his side and prods at the aching area. Tears spring to his eyes, clamping his teeth over his lip he gets up and limps to the bathroom. A few tears drip from his eyes and down his cheeks. The bathroom cabinets are pretty poorly stocked with medicine. There is a bottle of Tylenol in the back and he cries out as he reaches for them. He knocks half the contents of the cabinet out, and watches in horror as a bottle of Jason’s cologne falls onto the floor and shatters. Keith gags on the overpowering scent debating on cleaning up the mess now or taking the medication, which now that he can see the bottle better looks like it’s expired.

He chooses the medicine.

Jason gets home at six. Keith sits up from the couch his head is pounding. Nothing is really clear, but as he glances around the apartment one thing is strikingly obvious. He didn’t make dinner and Jason is home.

“Keith,” they’re staring at each other from across the hall, “The hell did you do here all day?”

“Nothing,” Keith whispers, and it’s not a lie. He really did nothing.

“It smells like my cologne in here.” Jason narrows his eyes at him, “Were you messing with it?”

“No. I-I knocked it out of the bathroom cabinet and it broke. I’m sorry.” he watches Jason’s jaw clench.

“Do you know how much that shit cost?”

Yes, Keith wants to say. Half my paycheck. He shakes his head instead.

“It cost me a fucking fortune,” he’s stomping across the floor now and Keith cowers. He can’t do this tonight and damn if Acxa's words aren’t ringing through his mind. 

“I’m sorry Jason! It was an accident!”

“The fuck did you need from the bathroom anyways?”

Keith lifts his shirt up in response, showing Jason the ugly mass of bruise along his side. Jason’s eyebrows shoot up and he grabs ant Keith’s shirt, wrenching it higher.

“You didn’t tell anyone did you? You didn’t call anyone?”

“No,” who would he call? “Jason, I-I need help.” he reaches for his boyfriends hand, grasping it like it’s a lifeline.

“Why? It’s just a bruise. I could give you worse.” he snarls, and Keith feels bile rise in his throat. He swallows it down.

“Please, it hurts. It hurts really bad. Please get me help.” he had told him a long time ago that he wouldn’t beg Jason for anything. He didn’t deserve that, but in this moment, he’s in desperate need of comfort, of help.

Jason lets go of his shirt, getting up he storms into the kitchen. Keith almost sobs as he watches Jason pull out the same damn TV dinner Keith had been using earlier and toss it at him.

“You’ll be fine in the morning.”

And that’s that.

Keith was not fine in the morning, or the morning after that. In fact it took the bruise almost an entire week to fade and for the pain to dull. It’s faded to purple instead of a black by the time Friday rolls around again. Keith doesn’t look at himself in the mirror as he gets dressed for work. He knows he looks like shit. Sleep had been next to impossible, work agony and Jason terrifying. He’d been far more mean lately, his words harsh and cruel. He hadn’t touched Keith much though and he wondered how long he could play up the injury to avoid sex. Not long enough he thinks bitterly.

Acxa’s been on to him, he knows she has. She watches him like a hawk and makes him switch tables if the trays are too full. He supposes he should be grateful.

Lance is early as usual, sitting at one of the tables in the back, bundled in his blue coat and scarf. His hat is a bright pink, spotted with hello kitty heads and flopping over a bit at the top from the heavy pom pom that drags it down. Keith is nervous to confront him today. The music is wrong though, and looking at Lance with his fall kissed cheeks and long legs Keith knows for sure it’s all wrong.

“Are you sure you’re okay to close? I can take your shift. I don’t mind.” Acxa says as they pitch in to clean trays, “I can tell him,” she knocks a thumb over her shoulder towards Lance, “to get outta here.”

Keith smiles, it feels foreign on his face, “No. I need the extra cash. It’s fine.”

Acxa chews her lip, but then relents, “Okay.”

He smiles again and they turn back to the task at hand.

Keith pulls a chair out after saying goodbye to everyone else and shutting the lights off in the kitchen. Lance looks up and grins at him.

“Hey man!” he raises his hand and Keith flinches away from it, immediately burning with embarrassment. Lance wanted a fucking high five. He drops his hand and blinks his blue eyes in confusion.

“Sorry. I uh, I know I was less than nice last time. I’m really sorry about that, I just have a lot of emotions when it comes to you.” he laughs awkwardly and Keith offers him a small smile.

“It’s okay.”

Lance shakes his head, hair brown hair flopping out from under his ridiculous hat, “No. No it’s not. It doesn’t matter what I think about you, what happened was horrifying and what I said was cruel. You didn’t deserve it, at all.”

Keith feels like curling up and crying until he falls asleep, which is pretty pathetic even for him. “Thank you. That means a lot, you might want to take back your apology though.” Keith says wincing. Lance’s eyes narrow.

“Why?”

Keith licks over his lips, “You’re music is so bad. I could not come up with anything. Which I know is not good, but it literally is god awful.”

Lance crosses his arms over his chest, ‘What’s so bad about it? I thought it sounded good.”

“Do you have any steps that you can do to the music? I think I can better show you what's wrong with it if I can see you dance.”

Lance shrugs, he takes off his hat and coat laying them on the table and taking out his phone. He turns on the music and moves into position. Keith watches as he goes through several steps. Lance is a good dancer, his long legs and lean body give him a look of easy grace. He knows the steps well, but he goes through them mechanically. It’s enough to get him a good placing, that's about it though. Keith frowns. He reaches over to Lance’s phone and hits pause. Lance stops and turns to him.

“Well?” he asks, messing with his fingers.

“You said you’re dancing solo this year?” Keith wonders and Lance nods in conformation. “When was the last time you danced solo?” 

“It’s been a while. Why? I did those steps to perfection.” Lance huffs and Keith nods.

“You did. They were very clean steps, but you're dancing against the music. Your steps are trampling it out.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, “Um yes, I want the judges to pay attention to my steps. Not the music.”

“That’s what’s wrong. That’s what’s wrong with this music.” Keith says. Lance crosses his arms over his chest, a pout marring his face as he tamps down frustration.

“You aren’t making any sense.” He scowls and Keith takes a deep breath. 

He runs a hand down his side, “The music can’t be a sub area of your performance. You and the music have to be one. You have to learn to dance with it, not over or against it. What you did was clean and looked good, but it wasn’t right.”

“It would get me a good spot right?” Lance asks sitting back down. Keith nods reluctantly, looking down at the table top.

“It would, but are you dancing for the judges or because you love dancing?”

Lance shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean I like dancing, but winning is really what I’m after. I mean come one man, surely you didn’t just do it to win.”

“I didn’t. Why do you think I chose such controversial music? I danced how I wanted to. I found music that lifted me like my partner, that stepped alongside me. If the music didn’t want me, then I had to find a different partner.”

“Then what happened with your last performance?” Lance’s voice is quiet and he won’t look up at Keith. 

“James just couldn’t hold me up that day I guess. It wasn’t the first time, it was just the last.” Keith mumbles. His head throbs with the phantom memory and he touches his fingers to the scar.

“He had dropped you before then and you trusted him still?!” Lance exclaims, and no, Keith hadn’t trusted him. He had no choice though.

“I was almost done with the season. I couldn’t switch out partners.” He remembers waking up in the hospital, not remembering anything that had happened since a late night argument with Jason. It was horrifying forgetting so much of his life, and when he got those memories back it had been even scarier to see how he had fucked his life up again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Lance says. Keith offers him a tight smile.

“Of course you didn’t. No one did.”

They sit in silence, Keith picking at the table and Lance staring out the window.

“Can you show me?” Lance says and Keith looks up at him.

“What?”

“How to dance with music. If this piece isn’t gonna work I need to find music that will.”

Keith swallows, looking down at himself. He’s wearing his worn converse and his work clothes that smell like bar soap and a day of work. His ribs still ache and the memory of his struggle in the kitchen a week ago burns bright in his mind.

“I,” his throat closes up on a wad of shame and fear. He swallows, “I don’t think I can anymore.”

Lance tilts his head like a damn puppy, “Why not? I mean I get the whole clothes situation, but you made me dance in jeans.”

“It's not really that, I uh, I’m not really in shape anymore.” Keith wants to disappear, especially as Lance’s eyes widen. “I gained weight.”

“What? No you didn’t. You look good Keith.” Lance’s ears and cheeks flare red and he buries his head in his hands, “Oh god. Oh my god.”

Keith wants to laugh in his face, he has gained weight. The stretch marks that adorn his arms and thighs was enough evidence. And look good? Uh huh, sure. He looks like a drowned rat with insomnia. Keith sits there awkwardly and watches Lance have a slight break down. When Lance finally looks at him again, his cheeks are still pink, his hair is ruffled and his eyes are rubbed red.

“I’m sorry, that was awkward.” Lance winces a sheepish smile, “I know you have a boyfriend.”

Keith jolts, “You know I have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Not like through a creepy way or anything. I ran into your brother's husband and he told me.” Lance says.

“Curtis is here in this city?” Keith asks, that's not impossible he guesses maybe they’re visiting.

“Yes?” Lance says. He looks caught between flustered and confused, Keith feels like the world just fell out from beneath his feet.

“They’re still here,” he mutters. Tears fill his eyes before he can stop them. He slumps forward against the table, burying his head in his hands, and cries. The sobs shake his shoulders and tear ripples of agony from his side. He gasps against the pain reaching a hand down to clamp against his side.

They hadn’t left him. They hadn’t moved away. Shiro is here, in the city. He didn’t leave Keith.

“Keith?” he forgot Lance was there, sitting across from him. He feels a hand on his arm. Soft ginger fingertips. It sends a shiver racing through his body, touching him to the core. Soft and meaningful in their soft press. “Keith, I need you to breathe okay? I need you to breathe.”

He can’t really do that. His body and mind warring against each other. Pain is tearing through his body from his ribs, from his chest, from Lance’s touch. His mind is reeling with the information. Relief bubbling up, only to get drowned out by fear because Shiro never tried to find him.

“Keith!” Lance is kneeling by his chair, hands hovering uselessly, “I-I’m sorry I don’t know what I said! W-what can I do to help you?”

Keith takes several shuddering breaths, his chest aching as his lungs fill with air. He wipes at the tears that still run down his face. His nose is running and he turns away from Lance, turning his face towards the window so he can wipe it away. Lance catches him as he goes to wipe it off.

“Here,” he turns Keith’s face back towards him. He reaches up and wipes at Keith’s nose with a coarse napkin. Keith sits there stupidly, his body freezing under Lance’s touch. He can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else. “There, now you don’t need to wipe it on your shirt.” Lance mutters softly, tossing the napkin onto the table.

Keith stares at it dumbly, then looks at lance out of the corner of his eye. He’s still crouched on the floor, a hand still on Keith’s shoulder. He just wiped snot off of Keith’s fucking face. 

“ _Fuck,_ why did you do that?”

Lance shrugs helpless, “I don’t mind! You are seriously stressing me out! Is there someone I should call? Like do you need a hug or something?”

A hug sounds fantastic, but he’s already wasted all of lance’s time with his breakdown. He curls in on himself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out. I just,” he sniffs as tears gather in his eyes again. “Shit, I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to put up with my bullshit.”

“Uh, last time I checked, someone freaking out and bursting into tears is not bullshit.” Lance sends him an easy grin, like Keith isn’t wasting his time. “I’m still willing to give you that hug and you seem like you need it.”

They’re practically strangers. Wisps of memories dancing between them like the steps of their routines. Flashes of blue eyes, angry, resigned, determined. Lance had been an odd distant constant in his life for a long time. A presence that Keith had never really bothered with, looking on with a twinge of curiosity but nothing more. Now they’re here, in a cold empty diner. Keith barely himself anymore, and Lance who has fumbled his words and burned red at the ear, offering him a hug. 

_Why not?_ Keith thinks to himself, he really wants a hug. A nice hug, one from someone who is practically a stranger. Lance won’t grab him, squeeze tight around where his ribs hurt. No he’ll hold him hesitantly, maybe even let Keith cling. 

“I wouldn’t mind a hug,” Keith murmurs and Lance is all too eager to comply. He does as Keith thought he would; awkwardly shifting around to wrap his arms gingerly around Keith’s shoulders. He lets Lance pull him down, and he lets himself dig his hands into the back of Lance’s sweater, press his nose flush to Lance’s shoulder, and cling. His eyes drift closed and Lance never drags his hands lower, never goes searching for the points of pain painted across Keith’s skin.

“M’sorry,” Keith grunts, “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Lance says.

Neither of them move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update because I've had this chapter planned out in my mind for awhile. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, leaving comments and kudos. It means a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't responded to any comments! My life has been a monster lately, but I want you to know that all of them mean so much to me! And thank you!


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